Yukon Gold

The enthusiasm of a young man about to embark on a new career is tangible in his good humour and munificence, however quickly it wanes as the pressure of that first day mounts until, finally, it crushes that fragile spirit.

It was a chip wagon and it was hell on wheels.

I agreed, as a favour to help out and given that I had previous fryer experience it should have been no problem. The first chore of the day was to get up at six to buy the potatoes from the distributor. I don't know if you've ever had the pleasure of going into a place that peels washes and bags hundreds of pounds of potatoes every day but it was nearly enough for me. I threatened to quit right there. However the promise of a nice day and a six pack brought me back into the fold and we went downtown to get our spot before nine. This involved a lot of swearing and fist shaking as the gangs of chip wagon goons squared off over the best spots and, being the new guys, we ended up in a low traffic area where I was lucky enough to spend the next eight hours listening to people bitch and complain about the long waits, the undercooked fries and the size of the servings.

Ah, the sweet smell of mediocrity. Having made barely enough money to cover the cost of the potatoes on the first day, the second day started out a little more modestly and we bought only half the first days quota. When these failed to go I knew it was over but no matter how easy it was for me to hand in my apron and move on it was twice as hard for the guy who owned it. He still had a brand new chip wagon to pay off and I wasn't sticking around to help him do it.

All summer the poor bastard carted that thing around from corner to corner looking for the sweet spot. I visited every now and again only to discover that sometimes I was the first customer they'd had that day. Some guys have a knack for business and others work their asses off for years without ever really hitting it. I don't know what ever happened to him as I lost touch over the years but I do keep my ear to the ground listening for the news of the next chip magnate and wondering if I could, maybe, get my old job back. I just don't have the patience or the fortitude, I guess, for that 'get in on the ground level' thing. Then again, I haven't spent a day since that summer smelling like a vat of grease and I still like the taste of French fries.

Maybe I'm better off for my intolerance.